Parlami d'amore
by Swamy
Summary: "I like the little things."


**Note:** I've read a lot of speculation about who will be or not be at Alaric's wedding, so I wanted to make sure bamon shippers got their fill through my story, just in case we don't get it any other way. Thanks to Syeira Lei for her honest opinion and for her work as beta of this story. IF in the future I get a decent idea for more situations I'm gonna add more chapters (to make a little serie), though probably shorter, but for now I guess you should think of it as a one-story. The title means Talk To Me About Love. Songs mentioned: _Unforgettable_ originally sang by Nat King Cole, _The One That I Want_ covered by Lo-Fang, _The One_ by Kodaline.

#

Her distrustful eyes look at him through the rearview mirror and one corner of his lips come up.

"Don't peek," she reminds him in a threatening tone that only manages to sound sexy. His fingers tighten around the wheel and he presses down on the accelerator to leave behind a subcompact so that the driver won't get a free show. If he's forbidden to watch, why shouldn't anyone else be, too?

When she slips off her shirt, one sleeve hits softly the back of his head. His peripheral vision sees the dark violet cloth being thrown aside. Damon stares at it for long moments, as he hears the kicking of her shoes, the sound of the zipper going down and her shifting behind his seat. He realizes how much his hearing is straining only when he hears the opening of her bra's hook, and his hand flies to turn on the radio while he concentrates on the driving.

He glances at the watch on his wrist and talks over the speaker of the radio station, announcing a violent storm during the night.

"Maybe we can still make it in time before all hell breaks loose," he says, his eyes back on the road.

"You're talking like they're the designated victims of a massacre," she grumbles, "They're getting married."

"Same difference," he replies.

"How romantic," she says, and he can hear in his head the rolling of her eyes and smiles at that.

"It's a brilliant plan if you aim to die of boredom, but if you're like me, it's really not the way to go," he explains, sounding like there's no other possible option for the life he wants to lead.

"Uh, right," she mumbles, "You can't see me, but I'm making my surprised face."

"Which is quite similar to your _you're-so full-of-shit-Damon_ face," he considers, aloud, grinning. It's just one of the many subjects they don't agree upon, which makes it all the more entertaining. "I take it you're a proud supporter. Did you use to wear an embroidered tablecloth over your head to play the part of the blushing bride when you were a child?" He asks, narrowing his eyes like he could spy her childish games.

She ignores the question. "I think it's beautiful that two people want to make a vow to be with each other all their life, whatever might happen."

"You can be all into it, ready to commit and grow a soccer team one day, and then wish for a lap dance one week later," he piques, "I'm not saying love doesn't last — I've been fixated on a bitch for an embarrassing number of centuries — but words and vows won't help in that. You need passion, adventure, spontaneity, all of which becomes a far away memory while you try to pay the mortgage and pick a decent school for the kids that put a regular stop to your sex life. To make a love last you need to fight for it, not fight about who's going to pick the kids from school."

"You make it sound really bad," she says, thinking back to all the moments of her life that made her think worse of the perspective of sharing her life with someone else.

"Marriage?" he asks, "From what I saw, it is."

"Love," she says, surprising him enough that he forgets he's not supposed to look at her, to find her eyes down and her shoulders naked. He looks away immediately, before she can catch him watching.

"Like, it's a grudge match. Does passion and spontaneity mean that? That you can never trust a promise because they might change their mind in the span of a week and so you need to fight to the death to keep them?" she wonders, leaving him feeling absolutely ignorant on a subject he thought he knew all about. "I like the little things. I think that even fighting about stupid reasons is important," she says nodding to herself as she pulls her dress from a plastic bag, "I'd want that," she decides, "Having him nag at me because I used all the hot water, and wrap my arms around his waist when he tries to leave the bed early on a Sunday morning because I want to be lounging in, spend hours bargaining on how to split the chores, trying my best to be pretty in his eyes even if we've been together for fifteen years and I'm getting old," Bonnie says with a shrug. "I don't see anything bad about that."

Damon doesn't, either, actually. He can feel two slender arms around his naked waist pulling him back on the bed, still warm, her fingernails inadvertently scratching his abdomen as she does so, the smell of orange flowers and patchouli body lotion, the hoarse sound of her, sleepy while her vocal cords vibrate making a _mmm_ sound. He thinks of Elena, of the way she smiles flirty at him when she wants to ask for something, but the warm feeling disappears even though he tries to hold it still. It occurs to him that it's not Elena that smells like orange flowers and patchouli, that it's not Elena's voice that vibrates in the back of his mind, that the smooth skin on her arms is a different color, one that's darker and glowier.

He's taken aback and irritated. For a moment he wonders if she's pictured it, too, and if it was Jeremy next to her in that warm bed. He finally sees the corner of the woods where everyone has left their cars and he parks behind Elena's.

"Are you ready?" he asks, almost brusque. She doesn't notice, or maybe she just ascribes it to his volatile mood.

"Almost," she replies, and he gets out of the car, shutting the door and leaning against the hood, waiting for her.

They've dropped his psycho mother home and he managed to get changed, but there wasn't enough time for her to do the same, so she just took a shower, collected her things and hopped in the back seat.

"Here" she says, one foot on the ground, the heel sinking a bit in the soft earth.

Damon looks up to see her hold the hem of her dress so that it won't get stuck in as she close the door and he can look at her while her eyes are elsewhere. She's wearing a strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline on a silver sequin bodice and a sparkling broach on a satin belt, the gown falls beautifully on the green grass and the color of it makes her look almost naked in the setting sun.

He's stunned and suddenly uneasy with himself, but it lasts shortly, for he manages to recover as soon as she looks at him with her friendly smile and her excitement for the event.

"Let's go," Bonnie tells him, her hands reaching for the gown to not let it dirty as they walk side by side to the place where they're holding the wedding.

"Please don't be already over, please don't be already over," she mutters under her breath. The ground is uneven and she struggles a bit when one of her heels decides to sink, but she ignores it and continues walking until the moment it gets stuck in a root that barely comes out from the ground.

Bonnie tumbles to the side and his arm breaks her fall easily, gently so, "Careful," he says, while her arms fly up and her fingers grab at his shoulders. As he looks down he realizes she's holding her breath, which would mean something if only he wasn't doing the same, "I have this effect on the ladies, they lose their minds and their coordination, don't be embarrassed," he says with a wink, helping her up.

"You mean you make them want to break their necks rather than being in your company?" she asks, her chin high and a grin playing on her pump lips.

"Come on," he says, one hand slipping around her back while they walk, "Or you won't have your chance to cry over the happy couple."

"I don't cry at weddings," she protests, sounding uncertain herself.

"Yeah, right," he replies as they approach the group. There are candles all about them on high silver candelabra, while the sun sets behind Alaric and Jo. Above them is an arch of leaves and peonies, and red petals cover the earth, drawing a long carpet under their feet. And, in a corner, a quartet is in black and white suits playing the Patchelbel canon on three violins and one cello.

Elena is sitting on the first of three row of chairs, and there are two seats in the back where he and Bonnie sit just in time to hear Alaric say his vow, "I, Alaric Jonathan Saltzman, take you to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my child – whom I hope will be a boy because I'm already powerless against you and another woman will only mean my complete defeat," he says, making everyone laugh_. _Bonnie's hand flies to her smiling mouth, as her eyes shine with tears, and he leans into her to mutter his, "I knew it," but she shushes him, waving the other hand in his direction, so that he won't break the moment.

"I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph."

Damon thinks he can say those words, if he could ever trust someone to say them back to him and mean them. His eyes move to Bonnie for a second and he forgets to listen to Ric.

"I promise to cherish and respect you, and honorably take the beating when you get mad because I was reckless," Jo looks at him with suspicion while the guests laugh, and Damon is brought back to the ceremony, "Which will happen very rarely," Ric adds.

The priest smiles despite being in the dark about the details of the husband's recklessness. "By the power vested me from the State of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

#

Elena is in his arms before he can say a word, while the newlyweds walk away followed by their guests, and he feels her clinging to his neck like a dead weight. Damon smiles down at her as her mouth curves into a sultry smile that feels quite inappropriate to the setting, yet he was never one to mind such things.

"Mission accomplished?" she asks, referring to their little, unwanted trip back to 1903 – God knows he would have preferred to have his nails tore one by one from his fingers rather then ask Bonnie to see Kai again. It turned out their friendship can bear even a witty sociopath with a gay Jiminy Cricket inside his head.

"Did you doubt my capabilities?" he asks.

"Oh, I know all about your _massive _capabilities," she replies, her innuendo as clear as the sun, and still he's not really in the mood. He thinks that maybe they can dance, feed each other some cake if it's decent tasting but she brushes her lips against his ear and nibbles at the lobe making him cross out her availability for sweeter entertainment.

"We should go," he reminds her pulling back, before eying her attire to decide, "You look wonderful." She does look wonderful, and it seems like the smartest thing to do, to pay her a compliment when he's rejecting her – public – advances. Only it's not really the best choice to pick a red dress for a wedding, the only choice less befitting that left is to wear a white one.

"Thank you, I knew you'd liked it."

She's full of self-confidence and hunger for life, which he likes, but lately — now it's not an exception — he almost feels in the way of her epic love story with herself.

Elena clings happily to his arm and he thinks that maybe for how warm Bonnie's project feels – maybe - it's just not the right choice for anyone, not for him anyway, because when he tries to picture him and Elena in that bed on a Sunday morning, he's alone and cold.

When he raises his eyes while they walk to watch the happy couple have their first dance to "Unforgettable", played on strings and with a female voice, he notices Bonnie, standing away from him, staring at Jeremy at the opposite side of the dance floor. Her fists close along her sides, a sign that she's agitated. He refuses to pick up at her speeding heart, but then he looks at Jeremy, and finds him with a light smile and a relaxed pose, hand in his pocket, wearing a suit that clashes with his nipper face. The boy raise one hand, with unease, in salute and Damon can hear Bonnie swallowing down. Swallowing maybe her pride, maybe all her hopes to come back to someone that was waiting for her. Damon knows what it means to wait even when you tell yourself that you're not, Jeremy instead could not move on fast enough.

Something twists in his stomach, knots he doesn't know how to undo. Damon wants to break the boy's neck but Bonnie would get mad and he would never hear the end of it. The only reasonable thing to do is to stay away from both of them, and so he decides to indulge his girlfriend, let her hang on him like she's an anchor and he's a ship that wants to leave the harbor.

There would be easier ways to keep him, like pulling him back on a warm bed while her hoarse voice makes an _mmm_ sound, but they never lay in bed just to enjoy the warmth and a little laziness. They never lay in a bed unless it's with clothes off and bodies intimately connected, like the moment they will separate something will pull them apart for good.

#

The reception lasts just a few hours, under suffused lights and a cover of brilliant stars. Damon steal one dance from Jo just so he can rub it in Alaric's face later, describing him how his wife was fascinated by his moves and that maybe he should work harder to satisfy her.

Alaric called him an idiot and he congratulated him with a pat on his shoulder.

Bonnie has refused more than one dance after the single one she had with Jeremy. He heard the boy asking things like _How are you_, and _how are you adjusting_, and _are you catching up on your courses, _and their conversation has gravitated around useless stuff that would have killed him of boredom. Damon wonders if Bonnie would be killed of heartbreak.

She has smiled the whole night but it took her almost an hour before giving in and concede a dance, but only because the one asking was the groom. He was relieved to see her twirl around on the diamond-shaped platform, but he thought that Tyler stood a little too close, and Matt held her a little too tight, and in general he was annoyed by anyone with a penis.

When the guests follow the newlyweds to see them depart for the honeymoon, he's dragged along by his girlfriend, hugged in all the right places by her low-neck red dress, and he can't even bring himself to steal a glance to her 'equipment', which makes him doubt his virility for a moment.

When they begin taking turns to make their wishes and give hugs away he ducks out unnoticed and goes back to the empty dance floor. The quartet is still playing something he doesn't recognize, while Bonnie sits by herself lost in her thoughts with an half emptied flute of champagne.

"I would offer a penny for your thoughts but I don't think it's good investment," he says, breaking the quiet around her and making her look up at him, "I bet your thoughts are boring. I can improve that with a few scenarios that would make you-"

"Burst your brain into flames?" she asks, trying to sound annoyed.

"That too, actually, the good kind," he explains with a wink, making her roll her eyes, but he reaches out his hand and he sees the ghost of a smile on her lips, yet she doesn't move nor say a thing, waiting for him to ask her.

He looks away making a face, but he still looks back at her to tell her, "I bet you're going to walk all over my feet."

"If I set my mind to it, I could," she informs him making him smile.

"Let's see what you can do, then," he says, making a _come here_ motion with the same hand he offered her. She giggles, taking his hand and he lets their fingers intertwining instinctively, gently pulling her behind him.

He can hear the clicking of her heels on the platform as the song fades and he turns to her to slip a hand to the small of her back and brings her gently closer to him, a little closer than Tyler did, holding her a little tighter than Matt did.

They begin dancing slowly one moment before the musicians play again, and this time the cellist begins the song on his own, his raspy voice and the touch of his bow giving a newfound elegance and a graceful rhythm to the, once, bubble-gum pop song _The One That I Want_. It's all delicate voice and luscious strings.

She smells good, he thinks, feels so soft, he thinks, bowing his head and looking down at the naked curve of her shoulder. Her hair touches lightly against his cheek and his mouth gets dry thinking of the short distance he could cover to have a chance at brushing his lips against her caramel skin. He's already leaning in - his brain shut off completely - when her voice breaks the moment. "I did," she says, making him pull back enough to look at her.

"What?" he asks, confused by his own aborted actions and her words as she blushes and looks away.

"I did play the bride, with an embroidered tablecloth over my head and the flowers stolen from the neighbor's flowerbed," she explains embarrassed, making him grin at the image that pops into his head; only, she's all grown up and beautiful in his head, and he thinks she would look perfect.

"I knew there was something felonious and adventurous in you" he accuses her, playfully.

"But I stopped when my mom left and my dad began ignoring me," she adds.

"I'm sorry," he offers weakly, feeling all the inadequacy of his words.

Her green eyes look up and she tries to smile at him, "Me too," she says. "I'm not the only one whose parents have bailed out on them, but maybe one of us can do something about it now."

"You mean you want to leave college and give a try to the nomadic life with your mom? Because I'm telling you, I don't think it would suit you. You're too methodical for that, and too into me."

She doesn't push it but she knows she made her point and he's going to think about it, once he's too tired to fake indifference.

"_Please_," she replies shaking her head "No one can compete with the love you have for yourself."

"So you admit that you love me." Of course that's the only thing he would get out of her accusation of vanity. She offers a nasty look and steps on his foot on purpose before covering it with a painfully fake innocent expression. "Ouch!"

"Oh, how clumsy of me," she sighs, batting her lashes, but he only makes her twirl and brings her back to bump lightly against his chest. There's a light rush in their body at the soft contact, but they are becoming so good at ignoring signs that if it wasn't for the charged air around them it would have gone unnoticed.

"Did it hurt?" he asks, making her look at him, "The thing with Jeremy."

"You mean, realizing that it's over," she translates, surprised by the sudden tact he's showing. He surprises her, more often than not, in a way she likes too much for her sanity of mind, "Yes, it did."

She takes a breath, inhales the fresh air of the night and his usual cologne, as the song fades into another.

"We didn't talk about anything," she says, her voice almost absent, "I've been a coward. I couldn't even hear him say that it was over between us, so I didn't ask, didn't say a word unless he asked," she tells him, baring her heart for him to see, "And he asked all the wrong questions."

Bonnie looks down towards his chest when she says, "When we were in the prison world I tried so hard to hold onto the thought of him, and then I saw him today and I realized I was wrong." Damon forces himself to hear the words, describing her feelings for an undeserving kid he wants to kill, yet again; and because he can't say that he's sorry that it's over, nor that she'll find someone else — because he's an egoist bastard and he just doesn't want her to — he leans in to press his lips against her forehead. That's when she says, "I was wrong in thinking it was love," and it takes him a moment too long to pull together the meaning of her words and pull back. "At least, not the kind of love that makes you want to spend the rest of your life together. He doesn't appear in my thoughts without a warning and I don't have to fight myself to not laugh at his bad jokes," and she decides, "I feel like I just tried to play it safe, choosing someone that couldn't break me. But I'm not that person anymore, I'm ready for something… unexpected and scary. "

"I knew I couldn't pick a best friend with such bad taste," he says, sounding relieved to say the least, and she gives him a dirty look.

"Oh, I'm your best friend, now?" she asks, with a bright smile that makes his stomach flutter a little.

"Didn't I give you the badge?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and making her laugh. But the sound dies soon as she looks over his shoulder. Damon turns his head to see Elena and Jeremy standing next to each other.

Elena smiles as Damon and Bonnie approach them. "What were you talking about?" she asks, "It looked like it was something funny," her smile only fades a little when she realizes how slow Damon is to let go of Bonnie's hand.

"Very," Bonnie confirms, not really answering her question.

"That's a secret between my bestie and I," Damon informs the two Gilberts, throwing an arm over Bonnie's shoulders and making a show of harmless companionship, but despite deciding to dump her, Jeremy doesn't look thrilled at their proximity, which only makes Damon tighten his hold when Bonnie tries to get free of it.

"I didn't know you were at this point," Jeremy says, irritated.

"I didn't know you were still here," Damon replies with a bored tone.

Bonnie rolls her eyes at his manners and his iron grip and Damon ignores it completely while Elena tells them that the newlyweds have left and everyone is going home, hinting that she's anxious to go home herself, with Damon.

He's horribly frustrated by the thought but smiles at her, trying to regain his good mood, maybe his sexual appetite. Is he getting old?

He's about to follow her, slipping his arm away from Bonnie's shoulders when he remembers he didn't come alone. "I have to take Bonnie home," he says, "And not to rub it in, because that's _clearly_ not my style," he explains ironically, "but I don't think it would be good to have little Gilbert take home the girl he just dumped just so that he can scrape a goodbye kiss in to have his cake and eat it, too."

"Can you not talk about me like I'm not here?" the boy asks, annoyed.

"Not really," Damon answer, still looking at Elena instead of him.

"I can just ask Tyler for a ride," Bonnie suggests, placing a hand on Damon's bicep to keep her balance while she takes off her heels, making a groan of relief when her toes touch the earth.

"Why? I'm here and all your stuff is in my car," he grimaces, looking down at her maneuver with the shoes.

"You can give them to me tomorrow," she informs him, patting his arm with the same hand she used to lean on him.

"Whatever," he says, trying not to sound disappointed or bothered. He's both.

"Goodnight… _bestie_," she says with a smile, before turning to Elena and Jeremy to wish them goodnight, too.

He can't help but look at her back as she walks away, the dress flowing about her, the lights shining upon her sequin bodice. "You smell really good," Elena whispers to him while he's still looking at Bonnie, who is becoming smaller and smaller the farther she walks. He smells faintly of orange flowers and patchouli.

Jeremy walks ahead of them and Elena clings to his arm.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asks, trying to find a distraction, start a conversation.

"It's Sunday and I'm completely free and at your mercy," she informs him, almost purring.

"Well, maybe we could just lounge in bed all morning," he suggests, turning his eyes on her. Her doe eyes look at him, and she smiles an amused smile, like she thinks he's joking.

"Right, like we can't do more interesting things in your bed," she replies.

"Right," he nods, and his own voice, to his hear, sounds _sad._

#

He shuts the door of the car, looking in front of him, leaving the black jacket of his suit on the passenger seat. He watches Jeremy sitting in the passenger seat of Elena's SUV while his sister starts the engine. He's supposed to follow them, go back home, to his dear, psychopath of a mother, to his always (self) loving girlfriend, to his brother's empty room. He would really like to camp out in the car, he thinks as he pushes his head back against the seat of his Camaro.

The quiet when Elena's car is gone has a sweet taste to it, which he knows should tell him something, but he's tired and unwilling to listen to that wistful pool of emotion at the pit of his stomach. He feels suddenly tired, like he's been holding on to the edge of a cliff and someone has stepped on his fingers until he has let go.

He takes a useless breath, turns the key, and on the radio that he hadn't turned off there's a stupid love song. Instinctively he turns to look at the back seat. Bonnie's things have been folded in a rush, and her large bag in abandoned in a corner. He narrows his eyes and takes it to peek inside. She wasn't holding any kind of bag when she left and the dress she wore didn't have any pockets – he knows because he watched her for what any other man would consider a shameful amount of time – and his suspicions are confirmed when he finds her keys, dangling from a dream-catcher key chain.

He smiles triumphantly because now he has a reason to go to her and see her again. The relief and elation that rise in him at that realization is so strong that it hits him like a punch, pushing all air out of him. Still, he's always been one to act first and think later, so he's not going to change now.

Damon starts the car and calls Elena to tell her that something came up and he'll be late, that maybe, since he's busy, she should take the time to be with her brother, who'll be leaving soon, anyway. They have all the time to be together, and the words taste like ashes in his mouth. Really, he'll think about that later. After seeing Bonnie's face, and after pulling her leg, just _after._

He's almost there when his phone rings and he grins as he puts it to his ear.

"Have you called for the goodnight story?" he asks, "Once upon a time there was a girl that loved to wear her red hood, her name was Amelia _Riding-"_

"Damon," she calls his name but he just ignores it.

"I think her name should tell you something, but I digress. Where was I?" he asks, without losing a beat, "Right. She was innocent and eager-"

"Damon I left my keys in your car," she interrupts him. He knows she's rolling her eyes and, because she thinks he can't see her, she's probably smiling, too.

"And why did you do such a silly thing?" he asks.

"What do you think? I forgot them."

"Too bad," he replies with utter disinterest.

"If you don't bring me my keys I'll have to sleep on patio, so try to find some decency in you and get a move on."

"_Decency_?" he asks, grimacing, "I'm a mysterious creature, a fascinating predator. Decency is not in my repertoire. I should at least be bribed," he informs her, "You know, I have a reputation to maintain," waiting for her to catch up.

He can hear her breath when she sighs and something in him stirs deliciously.

"What do you want to do that any human being would do for free?" she asks, her voice shivering because of the temperature lowering, her tone is reproachful but absolutely useless once he decides to have it his ways.

"Well, the classic mean of exchange would be a sexual fav-"

"Next," she cuts him off, irritated. He wasn't really hoping she'd cave in to that one, but it's always worth a try, he thinks grinning.

Damon taps his fingers on the wheel trying to think of something she'll agree to, that will give him time.

"Make me dinner," he proposes.

"Dinner?" she asks, surprised of the choice, "You can't possibly still be hungry, we just-".

"We can go back to option one," he reminds her.

"I'll take option two, but if you don't hurry up and-" she stops talking when the lights of his car hit the steps of her patio, illuminating her in the process.

He can see her standing there, one hand pressing her phone to her ear, the other one brushing up and down from her shoulder to her elbow, trying to warm herself in the chilly night air. Her feet are naked on the wood, her shoes abandoned on the mat. He can see the shape of her legs because the light barely make the gown of her dress see-though.

She grins, biting her lower lips as she looks at him to scold him, "You're an ass," for not telling her he was already on his way.

"And you're _beautiful,_" he blurts out, before he can realize what he's saying.

He sees her blinking before the rain starts falling violently. Damon is breathless and taken aback by the clarity of it when he asks faintly, "When did this happen?" – _when did I fall in love with you_? But there's a thunder and she asks back, "What did you say?"

He knows that pathetic speech about not wanting to take a risk because it's your best friend you're in love with, and he mocked those men because they clearly didn't have a spine, and maybe they couldn't get it up. He can't help but wonder what he'll do, now.

Damon hangs up on her and breathes in. Someone on the radio is singing _you make my heart feel like it's summer when the rain is pouring down _and he barks "Shut up!" before getting out of the car, unconcerned of the rain.

It pours down like it's promising to make the world a new place once it's done, and he has no trouble believing that. The white fabric of his shirt clings to him, follows every muscle, sticking to him like his own skin. Damon stops before taking the one step that separates him from Bonnie, who stands there looking at his impossibly slow walk and instinctively reaches out her open hands to make a roofing for his head.

She realizes the silliness of her actions when she sees him smiling up to her, and she takes her hands away. He joins her on her patio, and takes the keys inside his pocket to have them dangle from his fingers, in front of her nose, but when she tries to take them he doesn't let go of them immediately.

Bonnie looks at him expectantly, and he recovers quickly to inform her, "I'm hungry. I'm in the mood for beef wellington and soufflé," he says, trying to remember the most difficult, time consuming dishes to prepare.

She looks at him like he's crazy and he thinks he'd like to kiss her. The connection brings trouble because she looks at him like he's crazy half the time. The remaining half consists of her looking like she's ready to kick his ass, which can only give him a hard on. He's fucked.

"You're out of your mind," she says, shaking her pretty head.

"It's the deal," he reminds her.

"The deal was dinner, not a five stars restaurant menu when all I want to do is take a hot shower," she replies, annoyed, while she turns the key to open the front door.

"Good suggestion. I'd take a shower before dinner," he says, nodding his way into her house.

She pushes the door which closes with a loud bang and turns to go in the kitchen, "Leave me some hot water-"

"We could always shower together and preserve the water reserve," he proposes, cutting her off, but she's used to this proposal because he suggested that every time she recommended that same thing when they were stuck in the prison world.

"And once you're done you're going to help me make dinner," she warns him, pointing her finger at him while with the other hand she's opening the fridge to check what to use to cook something good.

He knows every smell of the products that are in her shower, knows how the notes change when they linger on her smooth skin. She knocks on the door a minute after he's turned off the water and when he opens it, stepping out with only a towel hanging around his waist she tries her best not to blush as she offers some clothes to put on. He smiles but doesn't take them. "I don't know, they're not my style," he comments, just so that she'll have to stare at his dripping chest a little more.

Bonnie gets annoyed, fast. "I'm not having you naked at my table," her eyes shine with righteous indignation but they can't distract his attention from her blushing cheeks. Oh, he'd have her naked anytime, anyplace, especially on the table. _Fuck_, he thinks, what is wrong with him? He feels his arousal stirring up too fast and he takes the clothes from her hands.

The dark jeans she gave him fit loosely and he has to roll the sleeves of the dark green shirt, but at least the color is good. She steals a glance at him when he enters the kitchen and he realizes she hasn't had the chance to get changed, yet. He walks behind her and puts his hands on her naked shoulders to squeeze some warmth into them.

"Do you want to put on something more comfortable?" The question is voiced a bit too low to be directed at a friend, but she's used to his flirty ways, so if she notices she doesn't let on. But he notices, himself, and the way his words and his voice slip around her.

"I can finish here," he says, clearing his throat and taking the whisk from her hand.

"The mix is ready. You can put it in the pan, it's already hot," she says, brushing the back of her hand on her cheek to push back one hair, only to leave a white stain on her face.

He smiles but doesn't tell her, just clears his voice while she leaves. She takes a quick shower, gets changed wearing some old thing he was hoping would make her less attractive (it does not), and comes back to help him set the table.

"I thought you and Elena had other plans," she says, placing the forks on the folded napkin.

"I like this better," he admits, placing the plates on the table. When they sit in front of each other he fills up her glass and she puts the salad in his plate, but as he raises his eyes on her doing something so simple for him he remembers their conversation in the car.

Bonnie looks at him, confused, and he asks, "Did you mean something like this? When you said you like the little things."

She shifts her gaze away and then looks back at him with the faintest smile to admit, "Something like this, yeah."

She's beautiful, and close, and he'd like to travel her lips with his fingers, his tongue. And his girlfriend is somewhere waiting for _all the time_ together and he has the most fucked up timing, and Bonnie has the most gorgeous, shy smile.

And truth is, "I can see the appeal."


End file.
